Legion
by the Skylark and Alvian
Summary: An off adventure of the Winchesters where reality and what's almost real become two halves of the whole.
1. Chapter 1

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Legion

This little story is based on a dream that the Skylark had one week after not being able to get her _Supernatural _fix.

Disclaimer:

I've seen this show

You can watch it, you know

It's got lots of ghosts

And demon boasts

And other things to make it look good

I'd give it to you if I could,

But I borrowed it.

(This poem has been heinously ripped off from Pink Floyd's song, "Bike".)

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Chapter One

Sam Winchester was still awake, despite the clock reading 2:31 A.M. There were jackhammers going off in his head and that could only mean one thing - another wonderful vision. He sat down at the table of their shoddy hotel room. The place was practically disintegrating before his eyes, yet its price seemed to make it the best that back-water Ohio had to give to them. At least the bugs were free, and they always make for an interesting stay.

Sam let out a sigh and began kneading his temples with his knuckles; trying to will out the fox only to have it prey on your chickens. He couldn't help feeling like he had some kind of disease. It was sort of like mental herpes, what with the incessantly annoying flare-ups. He'd probably come up with thousands of better- suited ailments to compare it to later. At the moment, the rhythmic thumping on his skull was inhibiting the thought process; it was quite distracting.

Over the pounding, he could just make out his brother moving around behind him. No doubt he had also been awake this whole time. Dean Winchester is a light sleeper on most occasions, so Sam's tossing and turning was probably equivalent to the noise of a locomotive speeding by the window. He heard Dean doing some rummaging and the sink turning on and off, but it sounded distant; just some weird noises coming through and intra-dimensional rift instead of his brother not even five feet away.

Just as Sam was wincing, expecting the next wave of pain, Dean came and stood next to him. He put a glass of water and a few aspirin in front of his brother's line of vision. Sam looked up to show his thanks as the wave finally exploded behind his eyes. Dean doesn't have to be told when he's having an Alyssa Milano moment.

The elder Winchester looked at Sam with as much concern as he dared muster without the fear of seeming sappy. "Just try to get some sleep when you're done, all right?" he said, his voice coming from the void.

All Sam could manage was a muffled "sure", and an almost invisible nod of the head.

Dean was satisfied by the feeble answer however, and gave him a quick pat on the back before returning to bed. Instead of going to sleep himself, he put the television on mute.

This was first premonition that Sam had to suffer through in a while, but that didn't make it anymore reassuring. Chances were that whatever he was going to see wasn't going to be very pretty. All he could hope was that he'd be able to get to where ever the warning was from before any serious damage was done. He still didn't quite understand what the point of these visions were if sometimes nothing could be done about them. Unless of course, something was just toying with him, like you do to a dog with a stick- sometimes they run after it, even if it was never thrown. Sam could just about picture those Powers That Be laughing their shimmering little butts off as Sammy runs off playing the hopeless hero.

Another tumult racked through his brain sending rainbows flashing behind his eyelids. What the hell was taking it so long? Sam had liked it much better when he had had no time to think in the moment between the first ounce of pain and the oncoming vision.

He could feel Dean's gaze on him as he waited in anxious anticipation for the short horror flick to begin playing. And finally, after what seemed like twenty turns of the hourglass, it did.

Sam once again took the eyes of another to get a better view of the drama that he would soon have to be a part of himself. Everything was relatively dark where ever he was, except for what seemed to be three slats where light was coming through right in front of him.

There wasn't a single thing on the other side of the darkness as far as Sam was concerned. He was looking out through the slats at a deserted corridor with a door opposite him. He could just make out the words on a sign, which read 'Library'.

And there was something else; something that Sam noticed straight away that all his years of Winchester training was useless for.

He felt…happy. But, it was happy used in the worst possible sense. He was dreadfully joyous for the prospect of bloodshed. Exuberant at the thought of creating a reign of terror, to hear agony and smell death; to taste the world's sweet decay.

Sam knew that this wasn't him, but the being whose head he was in that was awash in such black euphoria, but he had never before been so anxious to get back to a third-rate motel room. The chaotic power he felt was utterly terrifying but it wanted him stay. This was too much evil to take in one sitting, it was oozing out of every pore of the demon's body. It had to be a demon. Sure, people could be nefarious, but this was just inhuman.

And it obviously had to be stopped.

Something real bad was going down real soon. It only figures that the Winchesters would be stuck right in the middle.


	2. Chapter 2

_Legion_

**a/n: **finally! The speed of my progress is only evidence of my nonexistent computer savvy-ness. Thanks for the reviews! I've never done this before and they made me quite happy.

**disclaimer:**

I know how to rhyme

I can do it on a dime

So let me just tell you,

That _Supernatural _is not mine.

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**Chapter Two**

Sam was jolted back to his reality before he was really sure it had happened. A remnant of the demonic emotions still clung to his mind's eye like an overexposed photograph. The only thing that made him certain of his whereabouts was the presence of Dean leaning over him. A protective hand gripped his shoulder- the anchor to keep him from slipping back to that nigh unreachable chasm of near consciousness.

He must have still been wearing an uneasy expression because Dean asked, "Hey man, you okay?"

Sam snapped his head at the direction of his brother's concerned voice as if only just realizing he was in control of his body.

"I'm fine," he quickly stammered, but even he could hear the unsubtle traces of dread that still lingered within the words.

Dean merely raised an eyebrow and sat down at the table, his disbelief clearly visible. He still could not comprehend why his little brother liked to go on pretending he was just peachy when Dean always knew better, and Sam _knew _he knew better.

He waited in silence for Sam to recount his vision as he always did so he could drag Dean out at the speed of light quantified to go tramping across the country no matter the time or weather to save someone a grisly fate.

Heroic? Yes.

Their job? Yes.

Suitable for three A.M. on a blizzarding winter night? No.

Tonight, dean would opt for staying in their dilapidated little motel room and possibly saving their own lives. Nature doesn't care who it kills, not even supernatural crime fighters.

However, the silence persisted. Sam seemed content to scrutinize the tabletop as if he were expecting the Mona Lisa to start forming itself right in front of his eyes.

Dean cleared his throat rather obnoxiously. "Well?"

Sam acted like he was yet again surprised by his existence and asked, "Well what?"

The elder Winchester sighed, _What was wrong with him?_

"Well, what did you _see, _Sam?"

"It…it was weird," came the distant reply.

Dean almost laughed. "Well I don't know if you've noticed yet, little brother," he said, "but everything we do- heck, everything about us is weird."

"Not everything." The reply was made a bit more defensive than possibly intended, and Sam resumed his table examination.

Dean put his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair. You didn't have to be a genius to know that something was wrong. Sometimes Sam was as moody as a teenage girl with PMS, but this was just ridiculous.

His brotherly instincts were kicking into full gear, and they didn't like it. The visions, the headaches, Sam's general discomfort, he hated it all. Mostly because he could barely do anything to help. Unless Sam let him of course, but the names Winchester and Stubborn as a Pregnant Donkey, were practically synonyms. So, basically all Dean could do was get angry and kill stuff like it was their fault his brother was the effin' martyr. Who's ever fault it is shall die, Dean would see to it personally. Catharsis is good for the soul.

But the present problem was more pressing. Something had seriously freaked Sam out, and mind you, that was hard to do considering their nightlives. He was subjected to Dean's penetrating stare, the latter whom could only wonder what these visions were doing to the former's head. It was unsettling how out of character he was, how distracted. He really didn't seem to want to talk about it, Sam, who so firmly believed that conversation was the common cure. Like that would happen.

"Well, all right then." Dean's strong voice once again splintered through the silence. "We could sit here counting wood grains all night, but that's not exactly what I'd call a good time. Not that there's much more to offer in this fine establishment."

He stopped long enough so Sam would look at him again before continuing.

"So, on the Winchester Weirdness Scale of negative five to ten?"

"Eleven."

"Ooh, that was cliché, it must be terrible." His attempts to lighten the mood and have Sam spill his guts were proving futile.

"Sam," Dean spoke more urgently this time, "If something's gonna happen, I have to know, be it the Apocalypse or otherwise."

"I know, Dean," said Sam in a subdued tone, "and it wasn't that."

"It wasn't me dying again was it?"

"No."

"Then _what did you see?_"

"Well, nothing really."

Sam furrowed his brow in thought as Dean took on a look of perplexion.

"What are you trying to say, was it an _invisible_ demon?"

Sam's lips twitched into a quick grin. "I don't think so. Listen, could I just explain it all in the morning? I need some time, and I'm really, really tired." He massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

Dean let slide the fact that it already was morning and sighed again. The kid did look exhausted.

"Yeah, all right."

Sam's headache was gone, if only by some godly intervention, but he took the aspirin just incase.

"I think it was at a school or something," said Sam as Dean battled with the motel issue coffee maker. "All I could make out was a sign for the library."

"Uh-huh," his brother replied. He was paying as much attention as he could while trying to defeat the coffee making menace. "Dammit! This frickin' coffee better be worth it!"

The two had slept a grand total of five hours and a little pick-me-up wouldn't hurt. They'd woken up that fine morning to find themselves snowed it. There was practically four feet of the white stuff for every square inch. The weatherman said it was the biggest storm since eighteen- whatever. A few crazies were out and about, but everything else for miles around was closed.

"Ah-ha!" shouted Dean jubilantly sticking the coffee pot in its place.

Still grinning he sat down at the table with Sam who looked at him quizzically.

"What?"

"Nothing," said Sam shaking his head.

Dean turned on the laptop. "I hope we don't get too hungry today." He said this as though the thought of starving in a snowed in motel room amused him. The brothers hadn't bothered stocking up on supplies, Dean being an avid non-believer of all those in suits standing in front of green screens with goofy looking faces, and they sure would have the time of their lives trying to find an open store that did.

"Did you hear a word I said?" asked Sam skeptically.

"Oh, I heard every one them Sam, but that doesn't mean I get it. So, now you're some kind of demon psychologist?"

"No, not exactly. I think I felt what it was feeling so I would know that its here. It probably hasn't done anything yet that would normally warrant our attention. I'm guessing I just got a more advanced warning. And whatever it is, its real bad, Dean."

"Must be to have freaked you out like that."

"Yeah…"

Sam had gotten over the trauma enough to tell Dean about the vision, but still. Mental wounds always take longer to heal.

"It was probably just a one time thing." Sam tried to console himself.

"Yeah, like moving half a ton of wood and china," said Dean staring at the screen of the laptop.

Sam did not understand him sometimes. Was he trying to make him feel better, or worse?

The computer beeped as Dean's search came up. "Okay, the schools in this area: two elementary, one junior, and one high. Man, this a small place."

He shut the laptop and saw his brother looking at him expectantly. "Well, get your snowsuit on Sammy, school's out."

The coffee maker dinged, right on cue.


End file.
